Good Intentions
by Relised
Summary: The one time Mickey feels safe enough to be open with Ian and Terry walks in. That's just Mickey's life. Set from 3x06, mentions of rape


Good Intentions

His heart was beating out of his chest. Mickey scurried to pull up his boxers as he watched helplessly while Terry beat the shit out of Ian. He glanced at the door once before deciding fuck it and jumped on his dad's back. He tried to dig his jagged nails into his dad's neck, holding on for dear life when Terry finally pulled away from Ian and slammed them both back on the couch. Mickey tried to scurry away, tried to glance back and make sure Ian was getting away. But Terry continued to beat the shit out of him, swatting Mickey's hands out of the way as he tried to push his father away. He was vaguely aware of his dad saying something about an Aids monkey, whatever the fuck that was, before the world started to tilt. He could only hope Ian had gotten away.

But once again, luck wasn't on their side. The weight on Mickey's just let up a little, but to Mickey's horror it wasn't to get up. Instead he pulled the gun that had been in the waistband of his pants out and pointed it at Ian. From where Mickey was laying, he could tell that instead of running and saving his own life, Ian was going for Mickey's bedroom where he knew Mickey kept a gun tucked under his mattress.

"Sit your ass down, you fucking ass digger," Terry growled, the gun aimed at Ian's head. The red head slowly backed up to the chair in front of the window, never taking his eyes off Terry's gun. Mickey knew he had to keep Terry attention-and his gun- off of Ian. He grunted, reaching a shaking hand up and swatting at his dad's face, trying to turn the attention back on him. Terry brought the butt of the gun down, slamming it into the side of his head. Mickey let one last grunt before his eyes rolled back in his head.

Terry climbed off his youngest son, keeping his gun aimed on the Gallagher boy as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"It's Terry," he said into the phone, his breath coming out in huffs. "Send over the Russian."

* * *

Ian tried to keep his eyes off the gun, instead focusing on Mickey's shallow breath coming from the couch. The ex-con's face was covered in blood, and Ian knew that if they were lucky enough to make it out of this alive, Mickey would be extremely lucky to be able to see out of his left eye the next day. He sat waiting, having no idea who the Russian was, or what he was going to do to them. Maybe Mickey was right, maybe Terry would kill them on the spot. Why that meant he'd had to call someone else in, Ian didn't know, but he had no way of getting out.

After what felt like hours, but was really maybe five minutes, Mickey started to stir.

"Get up," Terry said, hitting his arm with the gun. Ian climbed to his feet, discreetly rubbing at the blood that was drying on his nose. He sat in the chair next to the couch that terry pointed at as Mickey slowly sat up, blinking wildly as he let his head fall back. "No son," Terry started, scratching the back of his head with the butt of the gun. "No son of mine is going to be a fucking faggot," he finally growled, pointing the gun at Mickey again.

"Dad, I-" Mickey started, glancing at Ian out of the corner of his eyes.

"And you!" Terry pointed a shaking finger at Ian. "First my daughter, now my fucking boy? If fucking Frank knew what he was doing he would have fucking drowned you as a fucking infant. But don't you worry, kid," he said, turning back to Mickey. "I'm taking care of it."

Ian kept his eyes on Mickey as Terry paced the living room, the gun never leaving his hand. Occasionally, Mickey's eyes would roll over to Ian before glancing at the ceiling again. His face was swelling and every inch of Mickey hurt. He couldn't stop the flinch when the doorbell rang.

A tall, pale, dark haired girl walked in the door, pausing in the doorway of the living room next to Terry. She wore a short dress and her eyes looked more dead than Ian had ever seen anyone from the South Side look. He had his hands clasped together, and he looked up with a raised brow, slowly taking the girl in. Mickey slowly turned his head to look, too tired to sit up.

"That one," Terry said, taking another puff of his cigarette as he moved behind the couch. "She's going to fuck the faggot out of you kid," he explained, as the girl moved in front of Mickey and started to remove her dress. "Ride him until he likes it," Terry said as she stooped to pull Mickey's boxers off. "And you're God damn going to watch," Terry said, pointing his cigarette at Ian as Mickey let out a grunt of pain.

And he did, at first. Ian couldn't drag his eyes away from Mickey's beaten face as he grimaced. He meet Ian's eyes and there were so many emotions running through his face that Ian couldn't even begin to read. He watched for as long as he could until his stomach clinched so hard that Ian was afraid he'd throw up on all of them. He kept his fist to his mouth, trying to keep the sobs that were building up inside of him from escaping. He tried so hard to keep his eyes on Mickey, tried to give him something to anchor to, but Ian couldn't do it. He glanced away, keeping his eyes locked on Mickey's pale legs. And that seemed to be the only sign Mickey needed before he was wrapping the girl up in his arms and flipping them, thrusting deeply into her.

Ian swallowed the vomit building up in his throat, knowing that there was no way out of this. Mickey had to do it. He knew that if him and Mickey ever wanted to walk out of this alive, Mickey was going to have to like it. Or at least pretend to like it. And that's what Ian had to keep telling himself; Mickey was pretending. He was doing this to save them. He was pretending.

"That's my boy!" Terry yelled as the Russian let out a moan, dragging her nails down Mickey's back. Mickey grunted, bucking his hips deeper as he got closer.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" the Russian gasped, throwing her head back as Mickey came. He let out a few gasping breaths, his head throbbing as he fell back against the couch.

"You," Terry said, once again pointing the gun in Ian's face. Out of the corner of his eyes, Ian could see Mickey twitch, but the boy didn't say anything. Ian could see that the fight had been beaten out of Mickey, and that made his stomach clench again. "Get out of my fucking house. And don't ever let me see our faggot ass again!"

Ian scrambled to his feet, grabbing his clothes and his bag as he went. He glanced back at Mickey as he got to the front door, his eyes dead looking as the Russian slid her dress back on.

"I said out, you piece of shit!" Terry yelled again, and Ian tripped over his feet as he ran out the door. Ian flinched on the sidewalk where he could hear Terry continue to scream at Mickey, the sound of his fist reaching the road.

* * *

"You're running late, Gallagher," Salvador said as he let Ian slip in through the back door. Ian let out a grunt, clutching his rips that he was pretty sure were severely bruised.

"Where's Lip?" He asked quietly, his voice coming out weaker than he had intended. Salvatore cocked a brow at him before nodding his head towards the main room.

"Nick, get other Gallagher," he called, and the black boy flipped him off before sliding into the room and calling for Lip.

"Someone did you in good, Little Gallagher," Salvador said, and it took everything Ian had not to say 'No Shit Sherlock.'

"What's up?" Lip asked quietly as he slid into the hallway, his eyes widening when he saw Ian. "Holy shit, Ian!" Ian swayed on his feet, letting out a sigh of relief when Salvatore caught his arm. "Thanks dude," Lip mumbled, grabbing Ian's arm and leading him to the bathroom.

He pushed Ian onto the floor next to the sink, grabbing for a bunch of towels as he let the sink run.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Lip hissed, grabbing the back of Ian's head as he tried to pull away. Lip dabbed at a cut along Ian's forehead.

"He said he was out of town" Ian whimpered, letting his eyes fall shut. "He said everyone was out of town and no one would be home. But Terry fucking found us."

"Shit," Lip whispered, dabbing at his nose. "Is Mick…What did Terry do?"

"Started to beat the shit out of me, but Mickey jumped on his back and pulled him off. So then he turned on Mickey. I tried to go for the gun Mickey keeps in his room, but Terry pulled a fucking gun on me."

"You mean there weren't a million guns in the living room?" Lip asked quietly.

"Surprisingly not," Ian said, wrapping his arms around his chest. "Terry called in "The Russian" which turned out to be a fucking prostitute…"

"Why would he call in a prostitute?" Lip asked, grabbing Ian's arm to pull him to his feet slowly.

"To fuck the faggot out of Mickey," Ian sneered, his stomach clenching again before he darted for the toilet. He threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach and then he continued to dry heave, his rips throbbing in protest. He pulled away from the toilet, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "He made me watch. He made me watch, Lip." With that, Ian fell back into the toilet, alternating between dry heaving and sobbing.

"Jesus," Lip whispered, climbing into the stall with Ian and rubbing his back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"He was beating the shit out of him again when he threw me out of the house. He's probably going to kill him, Lip."

"It'll be okay," Lip whispered, pulling Ian to his feet again when he was satisfied that the boy wasn't going to throw up again. "It'll be okay. Mickey's crafty, he'll get out of this."

"I've never seen his eyes look so dead," Ian said, rinsing his mouth off then leaning heavily on the sink. "I think this might really be it."

"Listen, he went back to juvie to keep you safe. And then he came right back to you when he got out, regardless of what he said to you before. This won't be it. Now come on, come lay down."

Lip lead Ian back into the common room, gently pushing him down onto his bunk. Ian hissed in pain as he laid down and Lip sighed, looking around for Nick or Salvatore. Spotting Salvador, he patted Ian's shoulder and crossed the room.

"He's had a rough night and got his ass handed to him. You got any pain killers? Anything?" Lip said quietly. Salvador sighed, pulling out a pack of ibuprofen from his bag. "How much?" Lip asked, reaching for his shoe. Salvador waved him off, glancing over at Ian.

"On the house. Little Gallagher looks fucked up enough."

"Thanks, man," Lip said, patting the bed and crossing the room back to Ian. "Take this, buddy," he whispered, handing Ian the pills. Ian did as he was asked, falling heavily back against the mattress. Lip got back up to get a cool paper towel to press against Ian's head to keep his face from swelling too much. By the time he got back, Ian had already fallen into a fitful sleep. Lip sighed, sitting on the floor next to his brother, knowing he was in for a long night.

* * *

"Have you heard from Mickey?" Lip asked the next day as Mandy leaned against the sign Lip was trying to clean.

"No. I came home yesterday and the couch was covered in blood and dad was pissed, but Mickey was nowhere to be found. Why, what's up?" she asked, twirling her hair around her finger.

"Do you know about Mickey and Ian?" Lip asked, not answering her question.

"What about them?" Lip sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Mickey and Ian have been fucking for a while. They've been together almost two years this fall I think, including the times Mickey's been locked up. That's why Mickey wanted the house; he'd asked Ian over to get him out of this hell hole for a while last night. And your dad walked in on them this morning."

"Fuck," Mandy gasped, her eyes wide.

"Terry hired some prostitute to fuck the faggot out of Mickey yesterday; made Ian watch, too. Ian said he was beating the shit out of Mickey when he kicked Ian out of the house."

"Is Ian okay?" Mandy asked, grabbing Lips hand.

"Physically? He'll heal. Mentally?" Lip scoffed, shaking his head as he looked up at the sky. "He just watched his boyfriend-and that's what they were even if Mickey wouldn't admit it-get raped right in front of his face and there was nothing he could do about it. What do you think Mandy?"

"I'll…I'll look into where he's hiding out. I'll try to let you know as soon as possible, okay?" She said, squeezing Lip's hand. "He might have gone to Aunt Rande's. She only really likes me and Mick. I'll check there first."

"Just find out if he's alive, okay? That's all Ian keeps saying is that he's probably dead. Just make sure he's alive before Ian goes off the deep end." Lip said, throwing the sponge back into his bucket as he pulled Mandy into a hug.

"Got it," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Tell Ian I'm sorry."

* * *

It took a week and a half total for Fiona to get everything worked out so they could get back home. Luckily, they let the kids come home before she started the case for full custody of them, and Ian had never been so excited to see his bed in his life.

"Jimmy's got dinner ready in the kitchen, monkeys!" Fiona called as they entered the house. Everyone ran for the kitchen, laughing and giggling and just all around glad to be home. Ian, though, sighed and slowly climbed the stairs to his room. "Is he okay?" Fiona asked, grabbing Lip's arm. "Where are all those bruises from?"

Lip glanced up the stairs, sighing before he headed Fiona back outside to the front porch.

"Before Ian started sleeping with Jimmy's dad, he was sleeping with Mickey. In fact I don't think he ever stopped sleeping with him. That first time Mickey went to Juvie? After Kash shot him? That was over Ian. And the second time Mickey went to Juvie? That was because Frank walked in on them and Mick was afraid his dad would find out. He thought he was safer inside than out."

"Okay, what doesn't this have to do with the bruises?" Fiona asked, leaning against the railing with her arms crossed.

"That group home was miserable. We made "friends" but it was still bad. Kids like Ian don't belong in places like that. Mickey's dad was supposed to be out of town for a few days and Mickey let Ian crash at his place. Only Terry came back early and caught them in the act. He beat the shit out of Ian before turning on Mickey. Mandy can't find Mickey, so for all we know he's fucking dead. Obviously Ian's not taking it well."

"Jesus." Fiona whispered, running a hand through her hair. "I'll check on him. Get some dinner, Lip."

Fiona followed Lip back into the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge before running up the stairs. Ian was curled in a ball on his bed, his back to the door. Fiona sighed, knocking on the door quietly.

"Hey, kid. Can I come in?" she whispered and Ian shrugged, not turning to face her. She crossed the room, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Lip told me what happened," she said, opening the beer and waving it in front of his face. Ian sighed, sitting up and taking the beer from her.

"He's probably dead," Ian muttered, taking a gulp from the bottle and then idly picking at the label. "Terry's probably killed him by now."

"I don't believe that for a second," Fiona whispered, stretching her long legs out next to his. "Mickey's a stubborn sun of a bitch. He wouldn't go down without a fight. We can go look for him after dinner if you want?" Ian took another drink from his beer, shaking his head.

"I'm just going to go for a walk. I'm not really hungry."

"Okay. If you want to talk later, Ian, I'm here. You don't have to keep this stuff from me, okay?"

"Thanks, Fi," he whispered, watching her leave the room.

* * *

Ian didn't know where he was going. Mandy had said he hadn't gone to their aunt's. He obviously hadn't gone back home. It wasn't like Mickey had many friends. Before he really started looking, Ian stopped at the store to apologize to Linda. He knew D'Andre from the group home had called her and gave her some excuse about why he hadn't been in for a week, but he felt like he needed to tell her himself.

"Thank God," she mumbled when Ian walked into the store, his head ducked. "I thought you'd never think to check here."

"Linda, I'm sorry. Some stuff went down and they wouldn't let me out."

"I'm not worried about that, I've got the store covered. What I'm worried about is Mickey," Linda said, her hand on her hip.

"What about Mickey?" Ian asked, his eyes wide.

"He's staying at our loft on 2nd street. He came stumbling in here looking like a total mess. I got him cleaned up the best I could here before taking him across town. He wouldn't talk, though. All he said was he kept you safe." She glanced up at Ian, biting her lip.

Linda knew about them. There had never been any question that she knew. Even after she had turned the security cameras back off, she'd had to have known. That's the only way Mickey had ever been given his job back, or why Linda looked so concerned now.

"You need to go check on him, Ian. He'll only talk to you." Ian bit his lip, looking away.

"I didn't even think he was still alive. I was sure Terry would have killed him by now."

"He's safe at the loft. But you need to go. Now." Ian nodded, mumbling a thanks to Linda before taking off down the street. He jumped the turnstile at the EL, cursing when he rolled his ankle on the landing. He sat with his head against the window, breathing deeply through his nose. He felt like he couldn't stop shaking when the El slid into the his stop and he grasped the poles as he made his way to the landing.

Ian stood outside the door to the loft, pacing back and forth for quite some time before he finally worked up the nerve to knock. He waited, hearing someone move slowly inside. He knocked again, clearing his throat.

"Mick? Mick it's me. Please let me in." Ian knocked again, shifting from one foot to the other. After what felt like forever, the door opened a little bit.

"What do you want?" Mickey said, and it killed Ian how broken Mickey's voice sounded.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, letting his head fall against the door frame. "I wasn't allowed to leave again. And no one knew where you were so I couldn't send word. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I pushed. I'm so sorry this happened. I'm-" the door shut in his face and Ian closed his eyes against the sigh that escaped him. He should have known Mickey wouldn't want anything to do with him. He was surprised, however, when the door opened the entire way.

"Get in here, Firecrotch," Mickey mumbled, a small smile gracing his face.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked, reaching out and running his hands over every inch of Mickey he could get to. Mickey grabbed his hands, stopping their movement.

"I'm….I've been better. But I'm getting there. I can almost open my eye all the way now," and as he said it, Ian took in the swollen half of Mickey's face. He knew it must have looked worse considering the situation with Terry had happened over a week ago.

"I…I'm sorry. Everything with the Russian and your dad and…" Ian trailed off, pulling Mickey close to him.

"Don't," Mickey whispered, hesitating a moment before he let his hands rest on Ian's hips. "Don't say stupid shit, Gallagher. This wasn't your fault. And…you shouldn't have had to watch that. It didn't mean anything. I didn't like it, but I was just trying to get you out of there. You get that, right? You know that."

Ian nodded, pulling Mickey closer to him. "I know," he whispered, letting his forehead rest against Mickey's. Mickey reached up a shaky hand, grabbing Ian's chin. They met each other's eyes for a few moments before Mickey smashed their lips together, Mickey's hands desperately clinging to Ian. And Ian planned on never letting go.

* * *

The trial started a few weeks later, and luckily Fiona won custody of them with little problem. Linda had allowed Mickey to stay in the loft indefinitely, allowing him to work off the rent at the store. Mickey still got twitchy every time he left the house, but Ian thought that was expected.

A week after the trail, he got a call from Lip. "I've got some news," Lip said, and Ian could tell he was trying to contain his excitement.

"What's up?" Ian whispered, slowly climbing out of the bed to prevent waking Mickey up.

"Terry's dead," Lip said, and Ian almost dropped the phone, his eyes wide.

"What?"

"He apparently pissed off the wrong person. Mandy came home and found him dead on their couch; a bullet through his forehead. He's gone, Ian."

"Thank fuck," Ian whispered, ending the call and tiptoeing back to the bed. "Mick," he whispered, gently shaking Mickey awake. "You're dad's dead." Mickey sat up, staring at Ian with wide eyes before a grin spread across his face. He tackled Ian into the mattress, their mouths pressed together. When he finally pulled away, his breath coming out in gasps, Mickey smiled with his lips against Ian's.

"Firecrotch?" he whispered, and Ian snorted, a smile covering his face.

"Yeah?"

"I think…I think, I uh, I think I might love you," Mickey stuttered, and Ian wrapped a hand around the back of Mickey's neck to keep him from moving.

"I kind of figured," Ian whispered. "But for the record, I love you, too."


End file.
